


Behind the Scenes

by Laparoscopic



Series: EGS [10]
Category: El Goonish Shive
Genre: Father issues, Gen, reconcilliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 02:44:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15233613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laparoscopic/pseuds/Laparoscopic
Summary: Susan has an unexpected visitor.





	Behind the Scenes

Susan and the rest of the women of the cast crowded into the women’s dressing room, the atmosphere electric with the satisfaction that came from a good performance. They chatted and laughed as they began to wipe off makeup and slip out of their costumes. Their energy levels were often high after a Sunday afternoon matinee, when they were not as tired as they might be after an evening performance.

It was pure happenstance that Susan was closest to the dressing room door when the knock came. She finished hanging up her costume, then glanced back at the controlled chaos around her. “Is everyone decent?” she called, although she could see no more bare flesh than usual.

Receiving a chorus of affirmative replies, she turned to the door and opened it, expecting to see the director, or one of her fellow actors’ boyfriends or girlfriends.

What she found instead was a vaguely familiar man, fifty-ish and balding, who looked startled to see her answering the door. Susan’s first confused thought was that it was Adrian Raven—but, no, he was shorter and more frail-looking than the old elf, even in his aged school teacher disguise.

The man smiled nervously up at her. “Tif—Susan! Ah…” He trailed off, then held out a small bouquet of flowers, comprised of yellow daisies, carnations, and roses. “You were wonderful tonight,” he said.

Susan took a half-step back from the proffered bouquet, noting that it was trembling in the tightly clenched hand. _Is this some weirdo obsessed fan?_ she wondered, then suddenly his features clicked into place. She felt a sudden tightness in her chest, constricting her breath. “Father?” she whispered, gripping the doorknob tightly for support. It had been over fifteen years since she had last seen him in person, but although he was balder and thinner— _gaunt_ might be a better word—it was unmistakably him.

He gave a jerky nod, his face frozen in a nervous rictus.

Susan stood frozen for a long moment, thoroughly stunned, then she retreated into rules and formality. “No men are allowed in the dressing rooms until after everyone has changed,” she parroted, then she moved to close the door. But his hand with the bouquet remained across the threshold, and she was loathe to touch him, to push his hand back out the door. When he didn’t retreat from the door threatening to trap his forearm, she re-opened the door part-way to glare at him. “What do you want?” she hissed through clenched teeth.

The hand holding the bouquet dropped back by his side, and he ducked his head, acknowledging her annoyance. “To talk?” he said, a faint note of hope in his voice.

Susan closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm and center herself.

“Hey, Susie, close the door!” called Rochelle behind her. “I need to get out of this bloody corset.” Susan was sufficiently distracted that she didn’t even feel her usual flash of annoyance at the use of that nickname.

Susan exhaled slowly, and opened her eyes. She looked down ( _Was he always this short?_ ) at her father and gave a sharp nod. “Talk. Okay. Fine. Give me ten or fifteen minutes to get out of this makeup.”

Her father nodded back, and stepped away from the door, allowing her to close it. She stood frozen for a moment, hand still on the doorknob, wondering if all that had really just happened. Would he still be there if she opened the door again? Or would he have disappeared again?

The memory of walking in on her father and… _that woman_ flashed through her head. She closed her eyes and tried to shove down the sudden surge of anger and bewildered pain that coursed through her. She was surprised at how strong a reaction the memory produced. She had discussed that incident with her therapists many times over the years, to the point where she thought she was fairly matter-of-fact about the incident, blasé even. But seeing her father again brought back a welter of strong emotions.

She jumped as a hand gently touched her shoulder. “You okay, Susan? Who was that?”

Susan turned, to see Tomina looking at her with a frown of concern on her face. Susan sighed again. “Fine. I’m fine,” she lied. “That was…that was my father.”

“Oh. You didn’t know he was coming to this afternoon’s performance?”

Susan gave a mirthless laugh, and tried to school her features into something resembling normalcy. “No. I most certainly didn’t.”

Tomina’s dubious look told her that her expression was anything but normal, but her fellow actors had learned that Susan was intensely private, and she didn’t push the issue.

Susan turned back to the mirrors, hoping she could retreat into the routine of taking off her makeup. But she looked at her spot, where she’d been just a couple of minutes ago, and froze. Most of the actors shared the space in front of the mirrors willy-nilly, but they had come to allow her to delineate a small space for herself at one end of the counter. It was a tidy oasis, amidst the chaos, with her make-up kit arranged _just so_ , and the counter top freshly wiped down.

But now, all she could see was Rochelle’s towel spilling over the invisible boundary-line at the edge of her space, and the counter top seemed to squirm a little, alive with imagined microbes. Susan felt her shoulders tense, and she closed her eyes, blocking out the sight.

 _Dammit. It’s all just the same as it was five minutes ago._ She struggled to keep her teeth from clenching, hating the old familiar phobic feelings that washed over her with a strength that she hadn’t felt in many months. _This is just because he’s got me rattled. Upset. Don’t let him have that kind of control over me._

“Dammit!” she whispered aloud this time, her emotions whirling and confusing her, threatening to overwhelm the equilibrium she had worked so hard for so many years to achieve. Breathing deep, she opened her eyes and looked at her station again. It no longer seemed alive in front of her, although the towel still annoyed her. She forced herself to step forward, and she nudged the offending cloth to the side with the back of her wrist as she reached for her own makeup remover. _I can do this,_ she told herself firmly. _I’ve done this hundreds of times. Today is no different from yesterday._

Well, except for her father, presumably still waiting in the hall outside the door. She shuddered slightly at the thought, then took another calming breath.

Her hand shook only slightly as she started to swipe at her face, removing makeup with quick, broad strokes. In the mirror, she saw Tomina watching her, still frowning. She grimaced and forced herself to slow down, to work at her more usual methodical pace, carefully removing all traces of makeup. Over time she had grown used to brushing shoulders with the other women as they all worked at the too-crowded long mirror, but now she found she had to fight to keep from flinching away from those casual touches. She stared at her face, tried to focus on individual patches of skin as she returned her face to its normal naked state. The ritualistic movements helped calm her, allowing her to let go of, or at least get control of, most of her anger and confusion.

She finished up by brushing out her long hair and pulling it back into a ponytail. She glanced at the small selection of street makeup in the back of her kit. She had rarely worn makeup before taking her first theater class, but now she occasionally found it useful. She viewed it as armor, of a sort, a mask to put between herself and the rest of the world. She suspected that the coming conversation would provoke a range of emotional responses. To put it mildly. It would be nice to be able to hide, or at least minimize, some of her blushes, or face going pale, in response to those emotions.

She pulled out some foundation, blush, and lipstick, and applied them as carefully as she would have any character makeup. The end-result was subtle, almost a no-makeup look, but it made her feel a little better. Gave her a mask to hide behind.

Susan was slow and meticulous enough that she was used to being the last person out of the dressing room after a show. So she was a little surprised when she pulled back from the focused concentration on her face to see Tomina in the mirror behind her, leaning against the wall by the door.

“Hey,” said Tomina.

“Hey,” she replied cautiously, uncertain as to why Tomina was still there.

Tomina cocked her head towards the door. “That guy—your father—is still waiting out there.”

“Oh. Okay. Thanks.” Susan turned her attention back to her makeup kit, packing it up and checking to make sure she had enough supplies for next weekend’s performances. She was annoyed but unsurprised to see that Rochelle had left dirty wipes all over the counter. Susan left them for the staff to clean up. There were limits to how far she would go in her quest for cleanliness.

“You don’t want to see him?”

Susan glanced into the mirror at Tomina, then busied herself wiping down her own section of the makeup counter. “Huh? Yes, of course I want to see him. Why do you say that?”

“Hmm.” Tomina sounded skeptical. “Because you’re moving slowly, even for you.”

Susan frowned, and glanced at the large clock over the mirrors, startled to find that it was much later than she’d thought.

“Oh. Well.” She struggled to think of something innocuous to say. What came out was, “I haven’t seen him in over fifteen years.”

Tomina’s eyes went wide. “Get out. _Seriously?”_

Susan bit her lip, wondering why she had volunteered that intimate piece of information. But she and Tomina had been in a couple of classes together, had worked together on a few shows. They had hung out together a few times. Though she was not what Susan would call a _close_ friend, she was probably as good a friend as she had in the cast. She glanced at her mouth in the mirror, to make sure her lipstick was unmarred, then she sighed and turned around. “Yes. Seriously.” She snapped her makeup kit closed, and tucked it into her cubby.

“Sheee- _itt_.” Tomina dragged the word out incredulously. “That’s fucked up.”

Susan barked a startled laugh at that assessment. “Yeah. It’s fucked up.” She shrugged. “Probably part and parcel of why _I’m_ fucked up.”

Tomina shook her head. “You ain’t fucked up, Susan. Or at least, no more so than some other actors I could name.”

Susan laughed again, this time with a little genuine humor. “I’m not sure that comparing myself to a group of neurotically insecure narcissists is the best possible baseline for normalcy.”

“Oh, is that how you view us?”

Susan snorted and waved a hand at herself. “I include myself in that group.”

Tomina shook her head. “No. You don’t. Not really. You may be doing enough theatre to practically qualify you for a second major, but you don’t really see yourself as one of us.”

Susan jerked her head back. “Hey!” she protested, stung by that assessment.

Tomina shrugged unapologetically. “Well, it’s true. You rarely socialize with us outside of the theater. You never come to the cast parties—”

“I did, once,” protested Susan.

“Out of how many?”

Susan grimaced and didn’t reply.

Tomina’s expression softened. “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, sweetie. Acting is fun, but it’s not the life for everyone. But you—from the start, you often seemed to be watching the rest of us like—like we were part of some sort of anthropological study. Or microbes in a petri dish.”

Susan sighed and shrugged, conceding the point. She knew she frequently came across as aloof, even when she didn’t want to. “Not anthropology. Psychology.”

“Oh? You were studying us for a psych class?” Tomina’s skeptical expression said she didn’t consider this to be an improvement over anthro.

Susan shook her head, and said reluctantly, “No, I wasn’t studying you at all, I was…well, taking an acting class was my therapist’s suggestion, originally.”

“Ah.” Tomina nodded understandingly. There probably wasn’t an actor alive who didn’t have a therapist.

Susan smiled wryly. “I was terrified at first. But then I was amazed to find that I liked it. Was even good at it. Acting. Pretending to be someone else.” She looked down at the floor. “Someone normal.”

Tomina laughed. “Oh, girl, if you came to the theatre looking to find role models for _normal_ , you _are_ fucked up.”

Susan chuckled and looked up at Tomina with a sour grin. “Well, it’s all relative. Given where I was starting from…” Her glance flickered towards the door momentarily.

Tomina’s mouth quirked in a little smile. “Well, I guess if you actually _had_ been studying us, you might have noticed that Marco seems to be carrying a torch for you.”

“Marco?” Susan repeated blankly, startled by the change of topic.

“Yeah, Marco Maiello, he’s working—”

“I _know_ who Marco is, thanks.” She always made it a point to know the names of all her fellow cast and crew members, no matter how minor their role or job. “But what makes you say… _that?_ ”

Tomina shook her head and gave Susan an amused look. “Maybe you _should_ be studying us.”

 _Marco? Really?_ She thought back over the current production, and her interactions with him. He’d been in the chorus for a couple of musicals, but this show he was working props and stage crew. He was almost always the crew member who worked with her, helping her get ready for her scenes. She’d just assumed that the stage manager had assigned him to that task, but—maybe not?

 _Huh. Marco._ She thought about him for a moment. He was certainly easy on the eyes, with dark hair and a slim, strong body. He’d danced and sung in the chorus of those musicals, so he was reasonably athletic.

Susan shook her head, dismissing the image of the handsome young man. _Don’t get side-tracked. I’ve got enough male distractions to deal with here._ She glanced again at the dressing room door, imagining her father waiting in the hall behind it. She felt her shoulders tensing, and she wondered briefly if she could spend the night sleeping in the dressing room.

Tomina followed Susan’s gaze to the door, then put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I know you’re not big on physical contact unless the role calls for it, but you _really_ look like you could use a hug right about now.”

Susan considered that for a moment, checking her responses to the thought of a hug. She wasn’t too surprised to find that Tomina was right. She nodded, opened her arms hesitantly, and Tomina stepped into the embrace.

Tomina was a strong hugger. She was almost as tall as Susan, and more muscular. Her embrace felt solid and reassuring, anchoring. Susan rested her head on Tomina’s shoulder and admitted quietly, “I’m scared. And…angry.”

Tomina gripped her tighter for a moment, then pulled back a ways so she could look Susan in the face. “I’m not surprised. Fifteen years?”

“A bit more. Seventeen? Something like that.”

Tomina looked her in the eye for a long moment, then asked, “Do you want me to tag along, for emotional support?”

 _Yes_ , Susan thought immediately, but after a moment’s consideration she shook her head. “No. Thanks. I appreciate the thought, but I can handle it. _Him_. I can handle him.” She wondered if she sounded as uncertain as she felt.

Apparently she did, because Tomina looked skeptical, but she didn’t press the issue. Instead she nodded firmly. “You’re right. You can do this. You’re responsible for who you are, not him. You raised yourself. He can’t take that away from you. You don’t have to let him back into your life any further than you want to.”

Susan blinked, startled. “Thanks. That’s…probably exactly what I needed to hear, right now.” She cocked her head curiously. “How did you know?”

Now it was Tomina’s turn to chuckle sourly. “Honey, if you want to compare daddy issues, we’d be here all night. Maybe you should buy me a beer sometime, and we’ll talk.”

Susan nodded, and stepped back out of Tomina’s arms. “I think I’d like that,” she said shyly.

“It’s a date.” Tomina gripped her shoulder firmly for a moment, then she pulled Susan’s coat off its hook by the door. Handing it to Susan, she said, “Go talk to your dad.”

“Thanks, Tomina.”

“No prob. Now, scoot. Before you start second-guessing yourself.”

Susan smiled briefly, then turned and walked resolutely out the door, pulling on her coat as she went.

Her father was sitting on a folding chair a little way down the hall from the dressing room. Susan was struck once again with how much he resembled a balding Adrian Raven. Though honestly, he looked more like Raven’s elderly disguise form than his natural shape.

He looked up as Susan stepped out of the door, then he jumped to his feet. He started to step towards her, then he paused, turned around, and bent to pick up the bouquet from the floor beside the chair. Susan approached him slowly, and stopped a few feet away from him. Out of easy hugging distance.

He brushed off the bouquet, and tried to prop up a daisy with a bent stem before holding it out to her with a nervous smile. “I believe it’s traditional to give an actress flowers when meeting her after a show?”

Susan stared at the flowers for a moment, then reached out and gingerly took them. She carefully avoided touching his hand as she did.

“Thank you,” she said automatically. She sniffed one of the roses. It was surprisingly fragrant, for a hot-house rose. She smiled a little, then added, “These are lovely.”

“As are you,” her father replied. He spread his arms apart and ducked his head a little, looking bashful. “Can I get a hug from my girl?” he asked.

Susan froze for a split second, then temporized with, “I should probably put these in water.” She held the bouquet between them, and fiddled with the bent-stem flower.

“Ah. Yes.” He dropped his arms and nodded, a flicker of disappointment flashing momentarily across his face. “Of course.”

Susan turned and headed down the hall towards the green room. There was usually an assortment of cheap florist vases in the cupboard above the sink, left there for just such purposes.

She heard her father walking behind her, and her shoulders tensed. She hoped he wouldn’t try to touch her shoulder or some such while behind her.

 _Address your concerns directly_ , said her logical half. _Tell him you’re not comfortable hugging him._

_Easier said than done._

_Yes, it always is. But it almost always pays off, in the end._

_Almost._

She sighed softly as she pulled down a vase and filled it at the sink. She unwrapped the green tissue paper from around the flowers, her attention focused on the practical matters at hand, trying to ignore the disturbing presence behind her.

“This isn’t the first performance of yours that I’ve seen,” her father said suddenly.

Susan glanced back over her shoulder at him, her hands busy with trying to tear open the little packet of plant food included with the bouquet. “Oh?” The thought that he had been watching her, all unknowing, was a little disturbing. Well, actually, it was a _lot_ disturbing. But then again, the whole situation was. She realized she could feel her heart racing, and her hands shook a little as she poured the plant food into the vase.

“I first realized you were in Providence when I saw your name in a review of _The Beggar’s Opera_ last year. I didn’t get a chance to see that show, but I started attending theatre productions here at the university, and have seen you a few times since then.” He paused, then added hesitantly, “You’re really good.”

Susan turned around to face her father, vase of flowers in hand. She worked to keep her voice even. “So, you’ve been watching me for months, but haven’t come to say hello until now? Why not? Why _now_?” She took a deep breath and tried to unclench her jaw.

He ran a hand over his scalp, as if brushing back his non-existent hair, then sat down with a thump on a battered couch.

“It was mostly—well, it was two things, really. Simple cowardice was one part, I admit.” He gave her a sad smile. “I wasn’t sure what kind of feelings you might have for me, or how you’d react to seeing me.”

Susan gave a little nod, aware that she wasn’t being very warm and welcoming. But though she had her anger in check, she didn’t _feel_ warm and welcoming, and she was in no mood to fake it.

“And also…” He waved a hand at himself. “I didn’t want to…” He paused, biting his lip.

“Didn’t want to what?” Susan prompted, after a few moments of silence.

“I didn’t want to see you, only to leave you again right away.” He took a breath. “By dying, I mean.”

“You’re dying?” Susan’s stomach clenched.

“Oh, no, no, I’m fine now. Pretty much a total remission, the doctors say.” He waved a hand at himself again. “But…that’s a recent development. That’s why I’m so bald and skinny.” He chuckled. “Not that I couldn’t have stood to lose a few pounds, but I don’t recommend chemo as a weight loss plan.”

Susan relaxed a little, though there was still a lot of tension left. “You had cancer?”

“A type of leukemia. I got lucky, it was one of the more treatable kinds. But dying—thinking I _might_ be dying—made me take a look at my life. What I’ve done.” He stared into her eyes intently. “And what I haven’t done. Like, being a proper father to you.”

Susan looked away from her father’s gaze. She set the flowers down on a table in front of him and sat down in one of the table’s chairs. She turned the chair so she faced her father. “Well, I can’t exactly gainsay you on that one. Not having seen you for almost twenty years.”

“Seventeen,” he corrected.

“Hmm.” Susan studied him, seeing signs of his recent illness now that she knew what she was looking for. Her concern for his health—his life—felt an odd contrast to her irritation with him. It drove home to her that she _did_ still care for him, anger notwithstanding. _He_ ** _is_** _still my father, after all. I did love him._

She had no idea what to say to him, or how to proceed, so she said nothing. Silence always seemed safest when she was unsure of what to say.

“Did you get…I was never sure if your mother let you have the cards I sent to you for Christmas and your birthday?”

Susan nodded. “Oh, yes. I got them.” She still had every single one of them, in a small stack in the back of her t-shirt drawer back home. “So…I knew you were alive, at least.” She grimaced. “And that was about all. You never wrote very much.” She failed to keep an accusing tone out of her voice. Susan remembered when she was younger poring over the cards, reading and re-reading their brief messages. Trying to tease out additional meaning, read between the lines in order to make some additional contact with her absent father.

He nodded and looked a bit abashed. “I’m sorry. I’m not the best writer in the world.”

They sat looking at each other for several long, awkward moments, before he said, “So. Can I buy you dinner or something? Maybe we can catch up a little?”

Susan hesitated, feeling torn. On an intellectual level, she actually did want to re-connect with her father after so many years. Get to know him. Try to understand him better, without the filter of her mother’s disapprobation.

Emotionally, however, she had a strong urge to flee, just to give herself time to process what had happened so far, little enough though it had been. And so she wouldn’t have to risk becoming angry again.

And then there were the practical concerns, like a half-finished paper that was due Tuesday.

 _Don’t run away. That’s what he did._ She managed a small smile back, and said, “Sure. I can’t take too long, I’ve got to work on a paper that’s due soon. But…I’d like that. A chance to catch up.”

His face lit up at her acceptance, and he stood up. “Yes, of course. Homework is important,” he said. Susan snorted, and he smiled and looked a bit abashed, as if realizing just how sententious he’d sounded.

“How about pizza?” he asked. “That’s quick.”

“Fine. Do you like the Flatbread Company?”

“I don’t know it. I don’t get to this part of town that often.”

“It’s just a few blocks away. It shouldn’t be too busy yet.” She glanced at the vase of flowers, contemplating carrying it to a restaurant, then said, “Let me just leave these in the dressing room. I’ll pick them up later.”

The walk to the pizzeria was chilly, accompanied by stilted intermittent conversation. Susan filled her father in on what courses she’d been taking, pointing to buildings where her classes were held as they passed, and he asked her perfunctory questions about those classes.

Susan had to slow her pace to match his; not only was he shorter than she was, but he seemed to move stiffly. Susan wondered if perhaps he wasn’t quite as fully recovered as he made out to be, but she was afraid to ask. So she slowed her usual powerful stride to a more sedate stroll.

The restaurant wasn’t too crowded, and they were quickly seated at a table by the window. When her father suggested sharing a pizza, Susan went along with it. They negotiated toppings for a shared pizza, and ended up with a pizza split down the middle, with no shared toppings. Susan felt on odd moment of nostalgic deja vu when she recalled he liked black olives and sausage on his pizza before he even mentioned them.

After the waiter left their table, her father smiled at her and said, “So. You’re going to Brown. That’s quite an accomplishment. Not just anyone can get into an Ivy League.”

Susan shrugged uncomfortably. “I’ve always had good grades. And I do well on standardized tests. Perhaps more to the point, Mother knows someone on the board, who wrote me a good letter of recommendation.”

“Ah. Yes. Your mother. And…how’s she doing?”

 _Drunk off her ass five nights out of seven_ , Susan thought, but there was no way she was going to share that with her father. “She’s fine.”

When it became obvious that Susan wasn’t going to expand on that statement, he asked, “Did she ever re-marry?”

Susan shook her head. “No. She’s…not all that fond of men, as a general rule.”

Her father winced at that. “Ah. Yes. Well…” He glanced around the room with a vaguely desperate look on his face. “Do you come here often?” he asked inanely.

“About once a month or so.” _God, next we’ll be discussing the weather_ , Susan thought bleakly.

Her father turned and looked out the window at some passing students. The change of angle, bringing his nose and cheekbones into profile, suddenly brought his resemblance to Adrian Raven back to her attention. Her—and his, she presumed—ancestor.

“This is a total topic change, but—” she began hesitantly.

He turned back to her, relief evident on his face. “Yes?” He smiled welcomingly at the prospect of a change in topic.

Susan hesitated for a long moment, unsure as to how to bring up the subject of magic. Without making her father think she was crazy, if he had no experience with it.

“Have you had any experience with…the paranormal?”

His smile shifted to a startled, quizzical look. “The paranormal?” he echoed.

“Yeah. Like, magic? And stuff?”

He blinked rapidly several times, suddenly looking a little wary. “Ah…that _is_ a total topic change,” he temporized.

Susan nodded, but didn’t say any more, just waited. And watched. Her father suddenly seemed even more nervous than he had when they first met, which she would not have thought possible.

“I would have thought you’d be more…level-headed than that. To believe in such things.”

Susan arched an eyebrow at him. “Based on what? You mostly know me through plays.” A small smile twitched on her face. “Most actors are fairly superstitious. I’ve actually had someone scream at me for mentioning the Scottish play by name backstage.”

He shrugged. “Well, mostly from the cast notes in the program booklets. It said you’re majoring in bioscience. I wouldn’t think a scientist would believe in the paranormal.”

“Oh. I guess I should update my bio. I switched to gender studies last semester.”

His eyebrows shot up. “That’s quite a switch.”

Susan shook her head. “Not really. I’m interested in studying issues around women working in STEM fields.”

He frowned. “How will you make a living with a degree in gender studies?”

“I’ll—” Susan cut herself short, and shook her head. “We’re getting off track. I was asking you about the paranormal?” His nervousness around the subject made her suspect that he _did_ know something about it, one way or the other.

Her father looked like he would rather pursue the question of her future career, but after a moment he shook his head and looked down at the table.

“I don’t really believe in magic,” he said, not sounding totally convincing. “But…I _do_ seem to be unusually lucky at finding things, sometimes.” He gave an embarrassed little smile and shrugged. “I mean, not always, but occasionally, especially if I’m stressed, I seem to be able to just put my hands on whatever it is I need to find. If it’s urgent that I do so.”

“Almost like you summoned it to you?”

“Yeah.” He gave her another embarrassed smile. “I hope that doesn’t sound too crazy.”

Susan shook her head. “No. No, it doesn’t.” She bit her lip as she looked at him, considering. She had no reason to trust him, but…if he had any of the same magic that she and Raven had, he was at risk of attracting the attention of aberrations. Even though Pandora had wiped out most of them a few years ago, new ones could be made. _Would_ be made. People being what they were.

The thought of her father facing an aberration, unaware and unprepared, decided her. She was angry with him, but she most certainly didn’t want him dead.

She held out her hand between them, palm up, then palm down, showing him both sides. He gave her a puzzled look. She placed her hand flat on an empty spot on the table, concentrated a moment, and when she lifted her hand, one of her shurikens was on the table.

Her father licked his lips, then essayed tentatively, “You’ve learned some sleight-of-hand in your theater classes?”

“No. I could have summoned that where you could see it, but”—she glanced around the restaurant—“I was being discreet.” She took a second, more careful look around the restaurant, then she unsummoned the shuriken, allowing him to see it disappear without her touching it.

She looked up and gazed steadily at him. “Magic. I have it. Because you have it.”

Her father swallowed nervously, looking stunned. “How…interesting.”

Susan arched an eyebrow at him. “That’s the most non-committal word in the English language, ‘interesting.’ What do you mean by that?”

“It reminds me…there was one time…in college…” He trailed off, his expression going inward for a moment. “Huh.”

“Huh what?” asked Susan as the silence threatened to stretch on.

Her father snapped his attention back to Susan, and gave her a crooked smile. “I was just realizing, maybe I wasn’t imagining things.”

“ _What_ things?”

He ran his hand over his scalp, again brushing back non-existent hair. “So, there was this time. In college. Before I even met your mother. I was coming home from a bar one night, just a little tipsy, not really drunk. This punk stepped out of the shadows in an alley with a switchblade and tried to mug me.”

“What happened?”

“I…beat him back with a baseball bat. That was somehow just there. I had always assumed it was just laying there in the alley and I’d somehow managed to pick it up, but forgot about it in the adrenaline rush. Or alcoholic haze. But maybe…”

“You summoned it to you.”

He shrugged. “Honestly? That almost makes more sense than me just stumbling across a bat when I needed it most. But I never seriously considered something like magic.”

“It makes sense,” said Susan. “Our family has a predisposition towards magic weapons. The summoning and use thereof.”

“We _do?_ ” Her father looked at her with a faintly bemused expression on his face. “How on Earth do you know _that_?”

Susan considered the question, then shrugged. _Well, we’ve gone this far…_ “I’ve met my— _our_ —great-great-great-grandfather. He’s a half-immortal. All of his descendants are good with magical weapons.” She paused for a moment, then added, “He taught me sword.”

“ _Sword?_ Why would you need to know how to use a sword?” Then he shook his head, and changed his question. “Wait a minute, you _met_ our great-something-grandfather? He’s still alive?”

“See ‘half-immortal.’ He’s not fully immortal, but his lifespan can be measured in centuries.”

“Centuries.” Her father looked stunned.

“He looks an awful lot like you, actually. Except for the pointy ears. When he’s not magically disguised as an elderly history teacher.”

“Pointy ears?”

Susan shrugged. “It seems to be a characteristic of immortals, and half-immortals. They’ve been called elves at times, in the past.”

“Elves.”

“And I learned the sword in order to protect myself from”—she quickly decided to avoid the complications of words like _aberrations_ or _vampires_ just yet—“magical monsters.”

“Monsters?”

“Yeah.” Susan was becoming a bit concerned about her father’s brief responses. “You okay with all this, Dad?”

“I…” He closed his eyes, and frowned as he took a deep breath. A little color returned to his pale face. He opened his eyes and looked at Susan, a small smile on his face.

“That’s the first time you’ve called me ‘Dad’,” he said quietly.

“What?” Susan thought back, and shrugged uncomfortably. “Oh. Well. I guess. What else would I call you?”

“You called me ‘Father’ when you opened the dressing room door. Which felt a bit…formal.”

Susan shrugged again. “You kind of took me by surprise.”

He grimaced. “Sorry. But I wanted to see you in person, not just call.”

Susan was trying to think of a response to that when the waiter returned with their pizza.

For several minutes, they just ate. Susan wondered how she could bring up aberrations, but nothing was occurring to her. Their discussion of magic having been interrupted, she found it hard to re-start the awkward conversation.

“This _is_ really good pizza,” her father said as he finished his third slice. “I can see why you frequent the place.”

Susan just nodded. _Say_ ** _something_** _, dammit!_ she scolded herself. But she kept drawing a blank.

They stared at each other for a few moments before her father essayed, “So, are you seeing anyone? A boyfriend? Or, uh, girlfriend?”

 _Oh, goody, he found something_ ** _more_** _awkward than magic to talk about._ She hesitated, then went for the simplest answer. “No. I’m not really into dating at the moment.” Her unorthodox relationship with Sarah, Grace and Tedd notwithstanding. Dear friends whom she occasionally watched making love, or even more occasionally had sex with, didn’t really qualify as boyfriends or girlfriends anyway.

“Oh. That’s too bad? I guess?” He seemed to pick up that she wasn’t bothered by her lack of a love life.

“Not really. Studying and rehearsals eat up pretty much all of my free time.” She shrugged. “Maybe someday, but it’s not really a priority for me right now.”

“Ah.” He sipped at his water and looked at her, his expression a little desperate.

Morbid curiosity prompted Susan to bounce the question back at him. “And you? Are you single? Or seeing someone?” She assumed that the lack of a ring on his finger meant he wasn’t currently married, at least.

He grimaced and shook his head. “No, I’m single. I’d been seeing a woman, Lydia, for a few years, but…I guess we weren’t as close as I thought. She left me shortly after I started chemo.”

Susan frowned, offended on her father’s behalf. Even though she didn’t like the thought of him with a woman other than her mother, he deserved better than that. “What an asshole,” she said. “Leaving you when you needed her most.”

Her father startled a little at her swearing, but he gave a wry smile. “Well, as I said. I guess we weren’t as close as I’d hoped. Or deluded myself into believing. She was sweet, but…not very deep. When things looked like they might be getting ugly…” He shrugged.

Susan scowled. “Still. You deserve better than that.”

He arched an eyebrow at her. “Really? I thought you might think it just desserts for me having left you.”

Susan flushed a little, because it was true, some small part of her felt that way. But this was different. She shook her head. “No. Whatever else, you didn’t abandon us in the middle of a medical crisis.”

“Hm.” He smiled, apparently heartened a bit at her defense of him.

“But…” Susan took a deep breath, working up the nerve to ask the question she’d always wondered about.

His smile froze.

“But why did you? Leave us, that is.”

Her father looked out the window for a few moments, frowning slightly. Then he turned back to her, though he seemed to be having trouble meeting her gaze. “I didn’t want to,” he said softly. “What do you remember about my leaving?”

Susan looked down at the table and clamped down on her emotions. “I was six. It’s kind of hard to recall much detail. I certainly remember…that night. And Mother coming home, and me telling her about…well. And then you were gone.”

She looked back up at her father. He looked startled.

“That’s…a somewhat abbreviated version of what happened,” he said. “I didn’t leave until several months after, well, you know. That night. We _did_ make at least a token effort to try to work things out first. Couples counseling and so on.”

Now it was Susan’s turn to look startled. “Really? I…don’t remember that. At all.” She frowned, feeling uneasy. The thought that her memories could be so faulty, have such a large gap, disturbed her. _But I was only six at the time_.

Her father looked down at the table and fiddled with his fork. “What I did was wrong. I can’t deny that. Perhaps more importantly, it was thoughtless and cruel to _you_. To put a child into that kind of position, where she—you—feel like you have to choose between your parents.”

 _No shit_ , Susan managed to refrain from growling out loud. Her shoulders were tight, and she realized she was clenching her teeth. She tried to make herself relax, dropping her shoulders and forcing her teeth apart.

“In the end, it wasn’t my…infidelities that split us up. Not directly. I mean, she wasn’t _happy_ about them. Hell, _I_ wasn’t happy about them. But in the past, we had managed…I don’t know if you know…about, um, the other…” He trailed off, looking embarrassed.

“Mother told me that it wasn’t the first time you’d cheated on her, yes,” Susan said flatly.

Her father looked down at the table. “Right. Right. Well, the thing she was unable to get past, or forgive, that time, was the fact that I’d brought my infidelities into our home. I put you into that impossible position, between us. A child shouldn’t have to choose between her parents. But my actions put you in the position where you would either have to lie to your mother, or…betray me.” He grimaced. “Not that I wasn’t deserving of betrayal.”

“Hmm,” Susan said, not wanting to verbalize her agreement with that observation, even though it was accurate, in her estimation. “So…you left us because she finally couldn’t— _wouldn’t_ —forgive you?”

“In a sense. I didn’t _want_ to leave you. But she had better lawyers than I could afford, and, well, I guess she had the moral high ground. She was able to get total custody of you, with no visitation rights for me.”

Susan frowned. “You… _wanted_ visitation rights?” That didn’t mesh with the impression she’d gotten from her mother. Although, thinking about it, she realized her mother never outright _said_ that, she’d just implied it. When Susan was too young to notice the difference.

Her father looked startled. “Of _course_ I did! I may have had problems with your mother, but I loved you. Love you. You were my angel, my little girl. It broke my heart to have to leave you.” Susan was shocked to see tears in his eyes. He swiped at his eyes with the back of a hand. “When the opportunity came up, I transferred to a position here in Providence because being so close to you, and not being able to see you, was maddening.” He picked up a napkin and began to tear little pieces off of it.

“If you didn’t want to leave me…why…why did you cheat on her in the first place?”

Her father was silent so long, Susan was beginning to think he might not answer. He stared fixedly at the napkin he was slowly shredding. “It’s not that I didn’t love your mother. I know that sounds hard to believe, but it’s true. I did love her, but…” He shook his head. “Sorry, this isn’t easy to say to anyone, let alone you.”

“I loved her, but…god, this sounds so stupid and immature, but I guess I _was_ stupid and immature. I loved her, she was a beautiful woman, our…our love life was fine, but I craved variety. Whenever I saw another beautiful woman, the notion that I would never get to, ah, know her, be with her, was disturbing.”

“So, basically, you were just thinking with your…genitals.” The fact that her father was confirming her mother’s basest accusations was both angering and…disappointing. She realized that some small part of her had held out hope that there had been some sort of misunderstanding, despite the fact that it was hard to “misunderstand” another woman in her parents’ bed.

Her father gave an uncomfortable little laugh at that assessment. “Yeah. I guess.” He shrugged, still staring at the small mound of confetti by his hands, not meeting her eyes. “Like I said. I was stupid. Those affairs were purely physical, I wasn’t in love with them, I just…had to have them. Experience them.” He frowned for a moment, looking thoughtful. “I wanted to know that _they_ wanted _me_. That I was still…desirable. I hated hurting your mother, and every time I swore to her that it was the last time, and I truly _meant_ it when I said it, but somehow…that resolve never lasted.”

“You were weak.” Susan tried to keep her voice quiet and level, but it ended up sounding like she was growling.

Her father winced, and his gaze flicked up at Susan for a moment, then back down. Susan was aware she was glaring at him, and she fought to control her expression a little better, to calm down. She didn’t want to cut him off, make him stop communicating. They would never get anywhere if they couldn’t talk. She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.

“Sorry. That was a little harsh.”

Her father shook his head. “It was accurate.” He fell silent, and Susan cursed herself for shutting him down just as he was opening up to her.

“I’ve never been married. Never been in a long-term relationship. So maybe I have a limited understanding of what you and Mom were going through. But…” She struggled to find a way to verbalize what she was feeling without sounding so harsh. “Even if you ignore what your actions did to Mom, and to me. Repeatedly breaking your word, your vows…what did that do to _you_?”

Her father flinched as if she’d struck him, and his head lowered even further, so that all she could see of him was the top of his bald head.

“I…I never thought about it in those terms.” He gave a bitter laugh. “It did nothing good, anyway, that’s for sure.” He lifted his head a bit, glanced at her, then grimaced and looked back down. He stared fixedly at the pizza, as if it were somehow compelling. Or at least not as threatening as Susan’s regard.

 _Well._ ** _That_** _was a remarkably effective conversation killer_ , Susan berated herself. She took another bite of pizza, even though she wasn’t really hungry any more, just to have something to do. _Gah. Stop that. I don’t want a stomach ache._ She set down her slice of pizza and pushed her plate away from her.

“Would you like the rest boxed up to go?” her father asked, retreating into practicalities.

Susan glanced at the pizza—only one slice of his olives and sausage remained, two and a half slices of her ham and pineapple. “Sure. Thanks.”

Her father flagged down the waiter, and got a box and the bill. Susan started to pull out her wallet, and he actually managed a smile. “Please. I said I’d buy you dinner.” Susan hesitated, then nodded.

As yet another awkward silence threatened to stretch out indefinitely, a wave of weariness washed over her. As soon as the waiter returned with her father’s credit card, Susan pushed her chair back from the table. “I probably should get going. I’ve still got a ten-page paper due Tuesday that I’ve barely started.”

“Ah, right, the homework.” Her father rose from the table too, and they donned coats and left the restaurant.

As they exited the restaurant, her father pointed off to the left, away from campus. “I’m parked a couple blocks that way.”

“Oh. So…thank you for dinner.” Susan winced a little at how stilted she sounded.

Her father nodded. “Of course. Do you think…could we do this again sometime?”

Susan bit her lip, considering. She was still angry with her father, and yet…understanding him better made that anger a little less. Anger or no, he _was_ her father, and she didn’t want to lose him again, having just found him. Been found by him. Whatever. She wasn’t sure if she could ever fully forgive him for what he did to her mother, what he did to _her_ , but she was pretty sure that forgiveness would _never_ come if she didn’t engage with him at all.

She nodded decisively. “Yeah. I think I’d like that.”

Her father smiled, pulled out his wallet, and pulled out a business card. He scribbled a number on the back. “Here. That’s my work and home phones and email. Call me when you want to catch a meal sometime.”

Susan took the proffered card with a nod and carefully tucked it into her purse. She appreciated that he wasn’t asking her for her contact info. She closed her purse, and then they stood there, looking at each other.

 _Oh, just go for it_ , Susan thought to herself. She opened her arms and leaned in to give her father an awkward hug, the hand holding the pizza box a bit off to the side. He gave a surprised little huff of breath, and tentatively returned the embrace. He held the hug only as long as she did, then stepped back. Susan tried not to notice how bright his eyes looked as he smiled at her, warmth and affection lighting his features. “Good night, Dad,” she said, and gave him a small smile.

“Good night, Ti— _Susan_ ,” he said quietly. “I’m glad I got to finally meet you.”

Susan nodded. “Yeah. Me too,” she said, somewhat surprised to realize that she meant it. Then she turned and walked back towards campus.

 

* * *

 

Susan realized that she’d been staring at the same screen on her laptop for five minutes, not typing a thing. She scowled at the words—the wrong words, almost random words, words she would barely dignify with the appellation “first draft”—then she sighed and closed her laptop. “Frak,” she muttered. She regarded the closed laptop for a few moments longer, then pushed it away from her, giving up on writing as a lost cause for now.

She picked up her phone, then stopped to consider. She’d already called Sarah earlier, but the call had gone to voice mail. Sarah had texted back a little later to say that she was loading a kiln, and would be busy for the next few hours. Justin was studying abroad in Japan this semester, and would already be in the middle of Monday morning classes. Diane…well, discussing father issues with Diane just had the potential for all _kinds_ of awkwardness. Best not.

She opened her contacts list and hesitated, trying to dredge up Tomina’s last name from memory. _Oh, right, Macrae._ She scrolled down to the M’s, then stopped. Right below Tomina’s name was Marco Maiello’s name. Susan frowned.

 _When did I ever add_ ** _him_** _to my contacts?_ she wondered. She tapped on his name, and was surprised to find that it was a detailed entry—phone, email, mailing address and—a _photo_? “What the heck?” she muttered out loud. Entered in the notes field was “Call me sometime? :-)”

Susan sat back, blinking. _When?…_ Then she remembered. Last week, she had been texting with her mother during a rehearsal. Something that normally got people yelled at, but her mother had been in the hospital with pneumonia, so they’d cut her some slack. Susan had shoved her phone into Marco’s hands as she’d grabbed her prop book from him before rushing onto stage, narrowly making her cue.

Tomina’s voice floated through her memory: _“If you actually_ ** _had_** _been studying us, you might have seen that Marco’s carrying a torch for you.”_

She bit her lip and stared at his name for a long moment. _I just want to talk to_ ** _someone_**. _Not even about Dad necessarily, just—talk_. She considered Marco for a moment. Funny, kind, good looking. _Not every man is like Dad_ , she reminded herself. _Most aren’t._

Before she could think about it too much and chicken out, she tapped Marco’s number. He answered after just one ring.

“Hello, Susan?” He sounded pleased and surprised.

“Uh, hey, Marco, this is Susan,” she said, then she slapped her forehead, _Idiot, of_ ** _course_** _it’s Susan, he just said your name._ But she didn’t give in to the urge to hang up in embarrassment. She refused to run away.

She took a deep breath. “So…you said to call you. I was wondering. Are you interested in going out for a beer?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
